Title:  Hypothermia
Author:  Philiater       
PWP---shameless PWP.  I was in a mood.                    
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Nah.  Well, maybe Requiem.
Archive:   Prefer it stay at SIS
Summary:  Scully is cold and grief stricken.  But isn't
she always?
Disclaimer: The usual. Not mine.  They belong to Mr.
Carter and friends.  I only want to play with them for a
while.  I promise to put them back where I found them.

Thanks again to Keleka my beta goddess and benevolent
taskmaster.


Hypothermia:  A body temperature significantly below 98.6
F.  May be induced by rapid cooling of the body's surface.



I am shivering uncontrollably.  My hands are blue ice as I
raise one to knock on Skinner's office door.  I hear a
noise inside.  He is still here.  I feel relief.

The relief is replaced by apprehension when he jerks the
door open, a scowl on his face.  He has his black trench
coat on with briefcase in hand.  So, he was about to leave
and I showed up.  Damn.

Whatever he was about to say is forgotten when he sees me.
His face softens a little.

"Yes, Agent Scully?"

"I…."  The words fail me.  I simply don't have the
strength to speak.  The room spins crazily for a moment,
blackness swimming up to take me.  I lean forward and fall
against his solid chest.  It is so warm, and I am so cold. 
So very cold.

I hear the briefcase drop.  I feel him pick me up, carry
me inside his office.  With a gentleness I never knew he
possessed, he sits me carefully on the couch.  I sense him
sit beside me, and pull me up to rest my back against him. 
He rubs my numb and frigid arms with his large hands.  The
places where my back touches him are instantly ablaze with
warmth.

"What have you been doing, Agent Scully?" he murmurs, his
breath a warm stirring in my hair.  "Walking around outside
without your coat?"  His breath is sweet and warm with a
lingering trace of cinnamon. "What would your mother think?"

At first I don't understand that he is saying something
humorous because there is worry in the tone of his voice. 
I don't want him to feel worried; he has enough regret in
his life without having me in the bargain as well.  

Feeling better, I open my eyes and turn my head to look at
him. The story of how I wandered about for hours grief
stricken over Mulder's disappearance through Washington
D.C.'s subzero weather sans coat or gloves dies on my lips.

My frozen gaze settles on the fire edged-coals of his eyes
and locks there.

I see hunger.  Raw, open, and undisguised by his normal
demeanor, I feel his gaze devour me.  His mouth descends to
mine in a blazing kiss, erasing the cold from the inside
out.  I'm going to burn up I think.   Burn like a meteor as
it enters the fire of Earth's atmosphere; shimmering with a
heat so intense, so beautiful, it cannot survive.

Suddenly his mouth is wrenched from mine. " No…," I
protest immediately, but he is already standing and
unceremoniously drops me on the couch.

"I'm sorry,"  he stammers.  "I don't know what came over
me."  With noticeable agitation, he smoothes a hand over
his bald head and up on the side of his neck.

Very calmly, I stand to reach and still the roving hand. 
On tiptoe, I remove his glasses and cross to place them on
his desk. He doesn't try to stop me, but conflict shows
clearly on his face.  

When I see this, I realize it was almost unfair of me to
appeal to Skinner's chivalrous side. But I don't feel like
being fair. Nothing currently in my life has been fair. 
Maybe I knew unconsciously that this could happen before I
came.  Maybe I wanted this all along, and knew he did too. 
In my vulnerable state I want and need him.

I extend my hand out to him.  "Please.  I'm so cold." My
voice quivers.  Whether it is from feeling a chill or
desire, I do not know.  I know only that I want him.  I
want his warmth and the lust I see so evident in his
arousal. My eyes beg him to come to me, to put his arms
around me, to brand me with his body.

Skinner groans as he loses the mental battle he was waging
with himself.  In a few strides he stands in front of me
trembling as I do.  He pulls me to him, my face resting on
his coal hot chest.

"Scully what are you doing to me?"  he asks softly.  He
doesn't expect an answer, and I have none to give.

Seeking as much physical contact with him as I can, I
burrow my face under the lapel of his coat.  I hear him
chuckle like I'm a child trying to play peek-a-boo.  This
seems to give him an idea and he wraps the two front panels
of the coat around me plunging me into darkness and warming
me in the process.  It is a place of smell and touch.  My
arms encircle his waist and my hands move to his upper
back, palms flat.  I feel even more heat there.  I am in a
Skinner oven.

I turn my face to the side, my cheek flat against his
sweat streaked shirt. I know he wants me to remain still as
his warmth permeates me, but the urge to move against him
is too strong. I rub myself on him, but he is the one that
marks me.  So male.  So Skinner.

"Careful, careful,"  he whispers.

I become bold.  My right hand slips between us and I rub
the hardness in his pants

He takes a hissing breath in and I fumble with his belt. 
It loosens along with the zipper.  I push through clothing
to find his straining cock.  When I bend down, my mouth
finds it on instinct like a baby searching for a nipple,
and latches on.

Skinner makes a soft moan as I suck gently. My tongue
probes him and he is blazingly warm in my mouth. He tastes
of salt and musk.  I am lost in him, my senses on overload.
The world has ceased to exist except for the two of us and
this moment.

Suddenly he pulls me up and out of the darkness into the
chilly air.  I utter a protest at being removed from the
heat.

"No…," I say.  Not again.  Not again.

"Scully, this is the wrong place, the wrong time." I
notice he is no longer denying the rightness of our
actions, but his voice is straining like his cock, his
composure slipping again.  

I look at up at him with eyes half closed, my arousal
plain on my face.  My lips are parted and I lick them
slowly to find his taste on my mouth.

He groans and crushes my mouth with his.  We both become
blind, a fever gripping us, mindless in our pursuit of
pleasure.  Our lips meld to one another in the intense heat
of our fervor.

We pull at clothes that are in the way, confining us. 
Heedless of the results, he tears my blouse and bra off
flinging them to the floor.

He backs me up against the wall.  Now it is his mouth that
latches on to me, sucking greedily on one breast then the
other. His lips are a soft white heat that melt the hard
crystalline nipples he finds.  I whimper with pleasure and
urge him wordlessly to do more.

He obliges me by running his sandpaper-like tongue over an
engorged tip.  I arch my back making high-pitched noises. 
I feel him run a hand up under my skirt to my thigh. 
Instinctively, I spread my legs wider to allow him access,
and am rewarded with a thick, roughened finger probing my
folds.

All thought of being cold vanishes when he touches me.

"So wet," he whispers.  "So wet for me."

My torn underwear and skirt join my other clothing on the
floor.  Skinner stands back and strips off the rest of his
clothing as well.  I watch with greedy eyes.  The guilt I
expect to feel is nowhere in sight.  For a few moments we
stare at one another, making contact with each other only
through our eyes.

I am breathing rapidly, aching for him to touch me again. 
His cock twitches as if in silent agreement.

He descends on me again crushing my mouth to his and I
wrap my legs around him.  He is so hungry I feel devoured.

He eases me to the floor and I spread my legs giving him a
view of something he will not be able to see in a few
moments.  Up on my elbows I watch him stare at me.

"Beautiful," is all he says.

 "Put the coat over your shoulders," I command.

He looks puzzled at the request so I repeat it.

"Put the coat over your shoulders before you fuck me."

He understands then, and I sink down on my back, my legs
bent and knees tucked up in the air surrendering control. 
I tremble with anticipation, my eyes closed.  And then he
is looming over me, the coat moving forward past my head
plunging me into near darkness again.  Skinner drapes his
body over me pausing, not quite entering me.   

Instead his fingers rub my clit, and push into me.  The
sensation is good, so good, but  
I want to feel him inside me. To feel the hot and ultimate
power of him in my core.

Impatiently, I reach for his cock, and am too rough in the
process.  Skinner emits a sharp hiss of pain mixed with
pleasure.

"Please, please…," I murmur over and over like a mantra.

With a grunt he moves forward and I guide him in.  The
pressure inside me is incredible, but it induces a sweet
ache as I am filled.  With my hands flat on his lower back,
I urge him to penetrate deeper until I don't know where he
begins and I end.

He moves slowly then, thrusting in and out of me creating
a delicious friction.  He was trying to take his time, but
I am impatient in my need.  

"Faster," I say. "Harder."

With another single thrust, he comes, crying out my name
with the rhythmic impulses of his orgasm.  Before the last
wave has left him, his hand reaches between us and applies
pressure to my clit.  It is all I need to come too,
whimpering wordlessly into his ear.  I have never felt so
warm and safe as I do now.

Skinner collapses on me, but I bear his weight well,
wrapping my arms and legs around him to prolong our contact.

As sanity returns I get an absurd image in my head.  One
of how we must now look on his office floor.  I see his
coat-shrouded form with long muscular legs sticking out of
the bottom.  I am completely hidden underneath him, and his
head is covered as well.  Anyone coming in would see a
headless Skinner with naked hairy legs.

I start to giggle helplessly which then turns into an
uncontrollable laughter.  Tears course down my face, and
Skinner slips wetly out of me.

He levers up to look at me.  "What is it?"  He can't
believe I'm laughing after sex.

Oh no.  I don't want him to think I'm laughing at his
performance.  Through fits and starts I breathlessly
explain about the ridiculous image.

At first he frowns, and I feel a twinge of apprehension.
But as understanding dawns on him, he actually smiles. 
Then I hear a deep rumble in his chest that builds in
intensity.  He laughs with me until we are spent.

I see now how unhappy we both have been.  Each of us
locked in our own private misery when we clearly should
have reached out to each other long before this.  I feel no
regrets, only a feeling of deep satisfaction.

"What now?"  he asks.

"I don't honestly know."  

Quietly he says, "I should take you home."  

Gently, he disengages himself, and helps me to stand.  We
dress in silence, but I realize my clothing is ruined. 
Even with a coat, I am likely to become as hypothermic as I
was before.

"I think I'm in some trouble here," I say, holding the
tattered remains of my blouse.

Skinner looks at me thoughtfully.  He reaches down and
grabs his coat from the floor and wraps the too-large
garment around me.

"This should do until you get home." 

I hold the coat around me as we walk to the garage.  It
radiates warmth, Skinner, and sex.

Once in the car, he blasts the heater as much for himself
as for me.

When we arrive at my apartment building, I ask him if he
would like to come up.  The idea appeals to him and we
hurry to the building entrance.

Just as we reach it I say, "Mr. Skinner, running around
outside without your coat in this weather?  What would your
mother say?"

He laughs for the second time in my presence.

"I guess I'll just have to find someone to help me get
warm,"  he says mockingly.

We run all the way upstairs.



The End


Author's Note:  In case you can't tell, I've got a thing
about Skinner's coat.  Ok, a fixation.  Ok, an obsession. 
I wrote this a while ago let it sit on my hard drive
pondering the wisdom of posting a PWP.  But what the heck. 
Skinner needs a little PWP thought once in a while.